Knowing The Amyrlin's Anger
by Quorothorn
Summary: Rand pays a visit to the White Tower, and says something mildly unwise to the Amyrlin Seat. *Some Spoilers for The Gathering Storm.*


_For the record: I am not attempting to truly capture Robert Jordan's (or Brandon Sanderson's) writing 'voice' here. This is because, at this point, I would horribly fail. If I continue writing WoT fic, I'll presumably work my way towards getting each character's voice and the general narrative voice of the series down (though obviously it will still manifest in my own writing style). But right now, I'm at the low end of the pyramid of proper imitatio of our RJ. I will attempt to be entertaining (and avoid toxic levels of OOCness) despite that deficiency._

_In related news, here is the standard disclaimer: I own nothing of the world or characters. I am making nothing so much as resembling money by writing this little piece. All very innocent of me._

...

The White Tower was wounded, its walls damaged by blasts of the One Power, its city ravaged by flames and enemy soldiers. Yet it stood. It stood, yet it was wounded.

The Dragon Reborn, having somewhat improbably climbed down from the top of Dragonmount, stood staring in slight perplexity at the damage. (Actually, he had Travelled most of the way down, then walked just to stretch his legs some after his long contemplation. It still counted as climbing the tallest mountain in the world. It did.) Then he spotted a familiar short dark-haired girl, also standing and staring in a vaguely perplexed manner, only the subject of her gaze was him, not the White Tower.

"Have you been redecorating, Egwene?" Rand called.

"Rand al'Thor," the Amyrlin glared at the Dragon Reborn, "That is not amusing."

"Probably not, but for the first time in months, I feel like being amused, and you were closest. Turnabout is fair play, I've heard."

Egwene stared at him for a few more seconds, but with no real heat in her gaze. At this moment, it was as though she saw the months of suspicion she had felt towards him (and probably he towards her) laid out before her—and it all seemed so absurd and unnecessary to her.

Rand faltered, just slightly, at the stretching silence, "Alright, that was bad of me (what did happen here, anyway?), and I see you're angry with me, but—" he stopped as Egwene raised a hand, waiting to see what she would do, slightly wary now.

"For weeks now," Egwene said, adjusting the seven-colour stole draped about her shoulders, "my sisters have been asking me how I would 'deal' with the Dragon Reborn—how I would manage him; guide him. Control him." Rand at this point began to look vaguely uneasy, remembering that he had gone Travelling down from Dragonmount without properly remembering that the only other landmark in sight happened to be the heart of Aes Sedai power. "I gave them all kinds of answers, based in logic or negotiation or concerns of the Last Battle—answers suited to each Ajah. All of these answers were true. But now that I have you in front of me," here Rand began sidling to the side a bit, eyeing a patch of ground just the right size for a gateway back to the Stone's Travelling Room. "I find that I don't care about dealing with, controlling, or even guiding the Dragon Reborn." Rand froze, caught between flight, apology, defense and inaction (which meant that inaction won). This meant he was unable to react when Egwene swept forward, seized him by the shoulders, and kissed him.

After a few moments—or minutes—she stepped back, readjusting her stole, which her sudden rush had loosened. Rand stared blankly for a moment before smiling slightly, "I deserved some kind of shock, I suppose (turnabout, fair play, and so on), but really, Egwene—"

"Deserved, Rand? Really, how arrogant can you get: do you think that a kiss is just your due from everyone now for what you've done?" Egwene folded her arms, the movement deliberately exaggerated.

Rand blinked. "I suppose that the usual method of punishment would be hitting or yelling, but sheer surprise is new."

"Rand," Egwene said over-patiently, "Have you, even once, correctly read a woman's intentions towards you without them being political or her making them as obvious as possible?" And she kissed him again. "Tell me, what have you done that would mean you ought to be punished?" Another kiss. "Halting wars and feeding the poor to the best of your ability?" And another. "Changing laws in all your holdings so they actually posses some degree of fairness?" Another. "Utterly subsuming yourself to the goal of saving the world, like a particularly insane Blue?" She paused. "That last one is a bad idea, but hardly the thing to punish you for."

"Egwene," Rand tried to back away, but she smoothly followed him, "Listen, I can't—I mean—this is absurd—Min, Elayne and Aviendha—"

"One more is proportionally not as significant when you already have three, Rand al'Thor—incidentally, I can imagine how Nynaeve reacted to that."

"You have been talking to Whites," Rand mumbled as Egwene kissed him yet again.

"Yes. And all the rest, too, which reminds me: Gawyn still thinks you killed his mother." Her heels thumped back to the ground as she leaned back again.

Rand reordered his thoughts—his Dragonmount epiphany had not actually robbed him of the ability to gain a cold mental concentration even without the Void. "Morgase isn't dead. She survived somehow; she's with Perrin, to the south."

"Really? …Wait, so your entire bout of righteous vengeance that sent you off to Caemlyn to kill Rahvin turned out…to be what, based on false premises?"

"The only crime he did not commit, and that was the one I killed him over." Suddenly, Rand laughed, "That's really quite odd."

Egwene, who had seen the absurdity first, was already laughing, "So you can still laugh. I have to say, I like it better when you're not laughing at me."

Rand spread his hands innocently, "If you're referring to when you came to me about the Wise Ones in Caemlyn, I swear I was not laughing AT you. I was amused by the situation. Besides, you have to admit that walking around with your face all over dust and then telling me to stuff a cat (and a hat, possibly with the cat inside) down my breeches is amusing."

"I don't have to admit anything," Egwene countered with a sniff before her eyes softened again and she asked, "Are you staying?"

Rand grimaced up at the injured profile of the White Tower, "You know I've never been inside that tower. This is the first time I've even seen the Shining Walls in person," he looked back down at the living embodiment of that institution, "I have some apologies to make back in Tear, to my father and Min and Nynaeve. Not Cadsuane, though."

"So she is with you."

"Unfortunately, yes," his own eyes, currently a clear blue in the sunlight, were softer than they had been in weeks, "I will return soon enough. Then you can tell me who was actually redecorating your Tower."

* * *

_Ending Note: This is a fantasy, specifically using these definitions of the word:_

_–noun_

_1. imagination, esp. when extravagant and unrestrained._

_2. the forming of mental images, esp. wondrous or strange fancies; imaginative conceptualizing._

_6. a supposition based on no solid foundation; visionary idea; illusion: dreams of Utopias and similar fantasies._

_7. caprice; whim._

_8. an ingenious or fanciful thought, design, or invention._

_The idea struck me when I was high off sleep deprivation after finishing reading The Gathering Storm and speculating with my sister about what might happen in Towers of Midnight. Specifically, the Foretelling about the Dragon "knowing [the Amyrlin's] anger" and the fact that Rand and Egwene were now the closest, geographically, that they had been since way back in Lord of Chaos (which is when the dusty-face incident occurred, by the way). My idea as to how they should run into each other (or one of them, anyway)? Rand comes down the mountain, cracks wise at the White Tower's damaged state; Egwene responds by acting annoyed for all of two seconds before kissing him. As you can see, that's exactly what I wrote here. Quite straightforward._

_This started my idea of how to solve all conflicts between the main goodies: make-out sessions. Yes indeedy. Again, I was even more sleep-deprived than usual when I came up with this idea, and it seemed to amuse my sister, so I developed it throughout our conversation, and eventually decided to do a write-up, since the idea wasn't at all long or complicated to do._

_Also, I termed this "General/Humor" (Humor/Fantasy, now) and not "Humor/Romance" because, even though the comedic elements aren't actually fully dominant, the fact is that I trust myself as a comedic writer, but never as a romantic writer (not that I can't still write comedy badly, but I trust myself to do decently enough at it more often than not)._

_Enough behind-the-scenes prattling. I hope you enjoyed reading this little exercise in fantasy as much as I enjoyed making it (that is, a lot)._


End file.
